


Finding Redemption

by TheRealG



Series: Widowtracily Bits and Bobs [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealG/pseuds/TheRealG
Summary: Following her freedom from Talon and finding love with the unlikeliest people, Amélie stands in front of Mondatta's statue and wonders if she deserves it all.





	Finding Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, finally something new to publish after I've been absolutely unable to write anything for the past couple months. Got some other works in the... works, but no promises this time (side-eyes abandoned and orphaned Mass Effect ficlets).
> 
> Thanks to some bread for some French clarification!

“I had thought I would find you here, Amélie.”

Amélie remained motionless, the minute tightening of her shoulders and murmured greeting the only indications that she was aware of her new companion. Her eyes remained fixed on the large statue in front of her, Tekhartha Mondatta’s inscrutable face watching over King’s Row. Beneath the massive construct, it was hard not to feel small, especially with the bronze plaque etched with a portion of Mondatta’s final speech. “ _Before me I see the future, humans and omnics standing together, united by compassion, by common hopes and dreams_.” What would he think, she wondered, of the violence and turmoil that wracked King’s Row—and the rest of England—following his death, his murder? No doubt the Shambali monk would have been among the first to call for peace, had he somehow survived.

She listened to the gentle hum of Zenyatta’s anti-grav motors as he settled himself beside her, his own gaze also fixed on Mondatta. The pair of them remained in silence for a time, Zenyatta clearly waiting for Amélie to break the silence between them. Much like his brother, Amélie could not fathom what was going through the monk’s mind just from looking at his face; even at the best of times Zenyatta was hard enough as it was to read. His poker winnings were testament enough of that, much to McCree’s chagrin.

“Has Lena ever told you?” Amélie asked without prompting after a few minutes, her eyes remaining fixed on Mondatta’s markings. It was a rhetorical question, seeing as Lena had already admitted to her what she’d spoken to Zenyatta about long ago. She was simply fishing for a way to break the silence that, for her, was starting to become more than a little uncomfortable.

“That my brother’s assassination was the mission that paved the path for you to break free from Talon’s programming?” Zenyatta asked in return, cutting straight to the chase without much preamble. Amélie flinched, despite the monk’s words not containing a single hint of resentment or anger; despite the statement containing what had to be a heavy subject for both of them, Zenyatta especially, he spoke simply, as if he was merely describing the weather to Amélie.

Amélie nodded, wondering how to express what was on her mind; if Zenyatta took it the wrong way, she could find herself alienated from the rest of Overwatch, him being one of the few people within the organization she could truly call an ally, if not a friend. “Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if things would have been different, had Lena managed to prevent me from killing him. If-”

“If you would have managed to break free of your programming if Lena had been able to save my brother?” Zenyatta finished for her. Amélie simply nodded in response. “We cannot say for certain how different things would be if Mondatta had managed to live. Certainly he would still be working to bridge the gap between humans and omnics; that was his life’s mission, after all, and something like an assassination attempt would have done little to deter him,” he said, a wistful tone in his voice as he spoke of his brother. “As for you, Amélie… I would like to believe that you would have fought your way free from Talon regardless, though we cannot truly know.”

Amélie nodded again, thankful for Zenyatta’s frank honesty. So many of the others tiptoed around her still, treated her like some porcelain doll that would shatter if they so much as breathed the wrong way in her direction, to her great frustration. Zenyatta and a good number of the others—including Lena, Song, dos Santos, Reinhardt and, surprisingly enough, the elder Amari—were the exception, something Amélie greatly appreciated. She herself was not afraid to speak her mind, and would do so if something bothered her. She did not need the others to pick their way around her.

“I feel… terrible that I find myself sometimes being thankful that I _had_ succeeded that night,” Amélie confessed, forcing herself to keep her voice even. “Had Lena managed to stop me, it is possible that I would have been sent back at a different time, in a different location, to finish the job, somewhere Lena wouldn’t have been able to interfere. And if that had happened, Mondatta would have just been another successful mission, another target off of Talon’s list. I would have remained the Widowmaker, possibly until my own termination.” The thought of staying as Talon’s puppet, that she would have kept dancing to their tune until the day she died, remained one of her greatest fears, and she still had nightmares where she would one day wake up in Watchpoint: Gibraltar, or in her flat with Lena and Emily, and she would be the Widowmaker once more, free to resume her mission of eliminating Talon’s enemies. Those nightmares haunted her the most when she was with Lena and Emily in London, the images of them bleeding out on the floor—or worse, captured for conditioning and brainwashing just like her—terrifying her beyond belief.

“Lena talked to me at length about that night,” Zenyatta said in lieu of a proper response to Amélie’s confession. “She believed that that night was her biggest failure, the night she failed to save one of the biggest beacons of hope, and that she had, by extension, failed me for not being able to save Mondatta. And I must admit, the night she told me, I felt… anger roiling within me. Anger at Talon for taking my brother just for the sake of raising discord, and to my eternal shame, anger at _you,_ Amélie, for taking his life. It was at that moment that I had thought back on Genji’s own anger before, and believed for one shameful moment that he may have had the right to it.”

Amélie’s head whipped around, shock evident in her expression as she stared at the monk. Here was someone who had the most reason to be angry with her, to _hate_ her entire being, and he was… ashamed of it? “Zenyatta…,” she started, her voice breaking.

Zenyatta held up a hand, forestalling anything else Amélie was about to say. “I know what you are about to say: that I would have been well within my rights to hate you, that there is nothing wrong hating the woman who killed my brother.” He turned, fully facing Amélie. “As I have taught Genji, hate can only beget hate, and it is an emotion that will lead to nothing but self-destruction and discord. It may bring some immediate measure of self-satisfaction, but the price and damage to one’s inner harmony, to one’s _soul_ , would be irreparable. Once I had centered myself, it was easy to see that none of it was your fault, Amélie.”

“Not my fault?” Amélie whispered incredulously, unable to keep the tremor from her voice, “it was my finger that pulled the trigger! That snuffed out the brightest voice calling for peace here! That brought Lena such anguish! How can it be anything _but_ my fault? What kind of _monstre_ would do such a thing?” she cried out, looking down at her hands, so tightly clenched that her nails risked breaking her skin.

A pair of cold metallic hands wrapped themselves around her clenched fists, gently coaxing them open as Zenyatta laid his palms against hers. “It is as you said, Amélie: you were but Talon’s puppet then, and one does not lay the blame on the tool, but on the hand that used it. That you are looking back on this event like this—not as a successful mission, but as a tragedy—is more than enough proof that you are not the monster that you believe you are. A monster would not look back on this and feel regret. A monster would not think back on this and regret the anguish they have caused others.

“That you are feeling guilt and regret over this at all, Amélie, is more than enough proof that you are no monster. You are human, just like the rest of us—figuratively speaking—and that you are trying your hardest to be better, to be _more_ than what the Widowmaker was, is more than enough. In fact,” Zenyatta continued, “I know with absolute certainty that were my brother aware of the mission and what would result from it—your freedom, and finding your inner peace with Lena and Emily—he would gladly lay down his life for you. This, I know of my brother, as selfless as he was in his life.”

Amélie was rendered speechless, trying to find some way to respond to Zenyatta’s absolution of her part in his brother’s assassination; this was the first time she’d spoken at length of Mondatta’s assassination with Zenyatta, and the sorrow gripping her heart broke a dam within her, causing her to crumple to her knees as the floodgates opened, tears pouring down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably in front of the monk, her hands still wrapped in his even as he deactivated his anti-grav motors, landing to his knees in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly, over and over again even as Zenyatta wrapped her in an embrace that was somehow both warm and cold at the same time, “I’m so sorry, Zenyatta.”

Zenyatta simply held Amélie as she cried, letting the former assassin cry her heart out. For Amélie, it was the first time for her to have wept so hard; not even with Emily or Lena had she ever broken down as she just had, though she _had_ wept in their presence before. Back then, though, it was a subdued, almost quiet affair, nothing like the heaving sobs that wracked through her body as she sat on the ground, crying into Zenyatta’s shoulder.

Zenyatta stayed quiet, letting Amélie’s tears run their course for the next few minutes. Once he felt her sobbing starting to subside, replaced by quiet weeping, he gripped her arms, holding her at arm’s length as he looked at her directly. “There is nothing to be sorry for, Amélie,” Zenyatta gently said. “My brother may have become one with the Iris sooner than most people would like, but he lives on, in the heart of every person who strives to carry on his mission, to bring peace and harmony to the world. He lives on in people like Lena, like Emily… and in you.” He activated his anti-grav motors, gently coaxing Amélie to rise as well as he floated upwards, resuming his usual stance. “And though I believe that there is truly nothing for you to repent for, if you truly believe that you must repent for my brother’s death, then rise, Amélie Guillard, and carry on his mission of harmony, and _live._ ”

Amélie stared wide-eyes at Zenyatta, before lifting an arm to wipe her tears with a sleeve. _He is right_ , she thought to herself. _If nothing else, I must prove to Lena and Emily--ma lionne et mon coeur--that Mondatta’s death was not in vain._ She looked back up at Zenyatta, a determined expression filling her face as she squared her shoulders. The monk stared at her for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with the change in Amélie’s demeanor.

Just then, something behind Amélie caught his attention, and he nodded at them. Amélie looked back, seeing Lena and Emily standing just a few feet away, both of them wearing concerned expressions as they watched Amélie and Zenyatta, unsure if they were allowed to approach. “It seems your absence has been missed, Amélie,” Zenyatta mused. “I believe it is time for me to return to the Watchpoint. I have much to meditate upon, while you have much to discuss with Lena and Emily.” Humming a random tune, he passed Amélie, making his way back to Watchpoint: London.

“Zenyatta?” Amélie called before the monk could make it too far, who paused and turned his head to glance back at her. “ _Merci mille fois_ ,” she whispered, trying to express as much gratitude as she could to the words. Zenyatta inclined his head in response before moving on, murmuring something to Emily and Lena, who immediately starting running towards Amélie’s side.

“We were worried when you weren’t in bed, luv,” Lena said, warm brown eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay, Amé?” Emily asked softly, offering a hand at the same time as Lena did.

Amélie looked down at the offered hands, taking them and lifting them up to her lips, giving both a tender kiss before pressing them to her forehead. “I am now,” she whispered, pulling both women into an embrace.


End file.
